


like crumbs of thoughts and bits of smiles

by Mr_Phich



Series: everyone needs a chance to be small [18]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky and Clint are Brothers, Communication, Daddy!Steve, Diapers, Implied/Referenced Torture, Little!Bucky - Freeform, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Non-Sexual Age Play, Panic Attacks, Physical Restraints, Relationship Negotiation, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Speech Disorders, Therapy, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Phich/pseuds/Mr_Phich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking to Steve for an example was sort of like a lightbulb trying to be the sun, Bucky figured. (Bucky tries to figure out how to be big.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	like crumbs of thoughts and bits of smiles

**Author's Note:**

> There is much news this week, friends! 
> 
> First and most importantly, [WhatEvenAmI](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/pseuds/WhatEvenAmI) wrote a beautiful plot bunny from this 'verse and it makes me the happiest. Read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7639045/chapters/17392321). WhatEvenAmI is also responsible for inspiring this story. Kudos, friend. You all around rock. 
> 
> Second, I am sad to inform you that this is the last story I have prewritten for you guys! I'll be posting a short one-shot next week, but weekly posting will STOP after that. I have a couple stories in the works and my hope is to post monthly until ~December. You can find details over on [tumblr](https://imdefinitelyyourcat.tumblr.com/post/149096272244/all-good-things-must-end).

_A spider lives inside my head_

_Who weaves a strange and wondrous web_

_Of silken threads and silver strings_

_To catch all sorts of flying things,_

_Like crumbs of thoughts and bits of smiles,_

_And specks of dried up tears,_

_And dust of dreams that catch and cling_

_For years and years and years..._  


Bucky woke knowing only one thing - that Steve was safety. The other memories came and went, sometimes sharp with clarity and sometimes overlapped and confused. But the knowledge that he was safe with Steve was the eye in the storm. And it was a storm, those first couple weeks. He didn’t hardly feel himself, but an icy echo of a man that he didn’t think he knew. There were no fixed points. Even with Steve, there were questions.

What was Steve to him? What was he to Steve? He didn’t know what Steve wanted from him and he didn’t know how much he was allowed to ask of Steve. Steve seemed to do everything for Bucky. As clarity and understanding grew, so did shame. Steve helped him bathe and eat and piss and wipe his own fucking ass. Steve helped him dress and walk and talk and breathe. Bucky couldn’t seem to do anything for himself. That made him angry, so fucking angry. A fierce sort of anger that had maybe once belonged to him but now seemed to take over and control him, burst out and leave destruction in it’s wake in a way that made Bucky terrified that HYDRA had seen what no one else had seen - that he was good only for the destruction of good things.

Steve had to restrain him when those feelings came and Bucky felt guilty for that too, because he knew Steve didn’t like it. Bucky sort of did, though, and he knew that was fucked up. It was just that there was knowing when Steve restrained him. Steve held everything - contained the edges of Bucky’s body, kept his feelings from destroying everything in their path.

It wasn’t the same as the memories of being strapped to a table, of rough hands, and weapons, and _pain_ . He knew that Steve worried that it would take Bucky back to those awful places, but it wasn’t the same at all. Steve’s arms were warm, for one. Before he’d always been cold, then. Steve’s body was soft, not like the metal cages and biting leather. When Bucky was restrained by Steve, he could feel Steve’s heartbeat and hear his breath. When Steve restrained him there was nothing _but_ Steve, and there was safety in that. In the moments that Steve held him down there was a goal - to be calm. Steve helped him with that goal. It was when Steve let go that Bucky floated in the storm again, tossed and turned and confused and frustrated and _lost._

Being little gave Bucky a framework for what life was supposed to look like. Steve was supposed to take care of him when he was little and it was okay that Bucky couldn’t do much for himself, because little kids were like that. They needed a lot of help. And Steve wanted to give that help - because he did it with Clint. It wasn’t a responsibility, it was a choice. It was a thing that Steve gave to him.

Bucky built a life on that. He was little most of the time, because big was terrifying. Big was not knowing and a lack of definition and being unsure what his relationships were. In a lot of ways, being with Clint when he was big was easier than being with Steve, because the relationship didn’t change. Clint was his brother, whether that meant castles and legos or video games and pizza. It wasn’t like that with Steve. Steve was his Daddy when he was little but… Bucky didn’t know what Steve was to him when he was big. He didn’t know the words for it.

He couldn’t find the words to explain all of it to Steve, either, because words were so hard and his ability to understand what he felt didn’t always stick around. He tried to write it down, but his stupid fucking body wouldn’t get on board, wouldn’t shape the letters or keep on the lines or anything.

Bucky threw the crumpled paper and the bent pen at the wall. The pen lodged itself there. Breath came hot and heavy in his lungs and Bucky _ached_ with anger and frustration. Steve popped out of the kitchen, eyes creased with concern.

“Buck, you okay?”

Bucky shrugged. He wasn’t, not really, but he was big and he should be able to take care of himself for five fucking minutes while Steve cooked dinner. Steve slipped through the doorway and came over. Bucky tracked his motions, the calm steady grace of Steve’s body, the strength that he kept carefully coiled away and tried to remember before. What had they been before?

Steve sat down beside him, put a hand on Bucky’s knee. Bucky fixed his gaze on it.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Bucky wanted to, he really did, but it was so hard. The words always got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth, if he could even come up with the words. He thought, pushed words and phrases into order, strangled them into cooperation.

“I - need to know. What are we?” Bucky sighed his relief when the words came out. He glanced up at Steve’s face. Steve was frowning and anxiety started scratching at his ribs.

“We’re family, Bucky.”

Bucky shook his head. That wasn’t what he needed. He knew that already.  “m’I supposed to do? When m’big?” Steve’s expression cleared a little and Bucky forced himself to keep going. “Cause when m’little I play and you take care o’me cause I need help and that’s - good. But not when m’big.”

“It’s always okay to need help, Bucky,” Steve was quick to assure. “But maybe - do you need something a little more formal? More structured?”

Bucky’s whole body relaxed because Steve got it. He nodded quickly.

“Okay, we can do that.” Steve said, nodding too, his voice confident. “We’re family and we live together, so we share our home. That means we’ll share responsibility for things.”

Bucky nodded again. He wanted to responsible, to maybe resemble an adult at least some of the time.  

“How about to start we set you some chores? Things you do in the house - like I do the cooking and the laundry and the picking up. We can share some of those chores.”

“I can help,” Bucky said quickly. Steve grinned and Bucky lifted his head all the way to look at him. “And that’s - that’s bein’ family? When m’big?”

“Exactly,” Steve said. “When you’re big we’re friends and we’re brothers.”

 _Oh_. Bucky knew how to be a brother. Clint had taught him to be a brother. Being a brother to Steve would be a little different, he knew, but some of the things would be the same. Bucky smiled. “Okay. That’s - that’s good.”

Steve smiled bigger. Then his face got a little more serious. “But Bucky, even though we’re brothers and family and we’ll share responsibility, I’m still your caregiver and that’s okay. Grown-ups are allowed to have caregivers, people who help them with the things that are difficult. We can be both.”

Bucky frowned, not sure how he felt about that. He should be able to fucking do things by himself - he hadn’t seen any adult who couldn’t. Steve sighed and pursed his lips thoughtfully, running a hand through his hair. His face brightened after a moment.

“I don’t know how much you remember from before,” Steve said softly, “but you were my caregiver then. You helped me when I was sick or if my back hurt really bad. I couldn’t do everything that you could, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t important or helping or that I didn’t matter.”

Bucky could sort of remember that, of helping a littler Steve, of jokingly carrying him up the stairs and not so jokingly feeding him soup when he was too tired to lift his arms. He’d never felt like Steve was bad, for needing that. He remembered that much at least. He’d been happy to help Steve - wanted to make things easier.

“Okay,” Bucky whispered. He knew that he needed Steve to help him, even when he was big. He hadn’t had a word for what Steve was before, but all these new words helped - brother, family, caregiver. Knowing that once upon a time Bucky had been able to give Steve some of what Steve was giving him now - well. That both helped and hurt. Cause he couldn’t do it now, but at least he’d done it, right? Steve squeezed his knee. “Can we - yeses and nos?” Bucky struggled to ask.

They’d had a talk sorta like this one after Bucky decided to be little - about the things that he wanted and didn’t want. Clint and Steve both called them his yeses and nos. It helped to have things outlined so clearly.

“Of course,” Steve said, picking a pad of paper up off the coffee table and scrounging in the end table drawer for a pen. Bucky looked guiltily over at the pen still embedded in the wall from earlier but quickly fixed his gaze back on Steve and the conversation they were having now. “Okay,” Steve mused. “Yes to chores and responsibilities?”

Bucky nodded. Steve’s pen scratched across the paper.

“What are things you would like my help with when you’re big?” Bucky frowned and thought about the many things Steve helped him with. The list was really fucking long.

“Choosing clothes,” He said, because that one was hard - it was fucking stupid, but there you go. It wasn’t terrifying like getting his face wet was, but something about it froze him right up. “Washing. Uhm, being safe when I get angry.” That’s what they called it when Steve restrained him. Bucky had called it that first when he was little - the word restrained too loaded and big to try and deal with when he was in the small, soft, tentative space in his head. Steve and Clint and even Thor and Phil called it that now. The steady sound of Steve’s pen stopped and Bucky tried to think of more things he would need help with. He thought about the bathroom and blushed. When he was little it was almost okay that he had accidents. Little kids did that. It definitely wasn’t okay that he had accidents when he was big.

His throat closed a little with shame and self-loathing.

“What’re you thinking about Bucky?” Steve asked quietly. Against his will, Bucky felt tears welling up. He hated this so much. It was one of the worst parts of what Hydra had done to him. Bucky could live with knotted up words. He could handle fucked up coordination. Panic attacks sucked, but they always ended. Not being able to feel when he had to take a leak -. It really fucking sucked.

“Bathroom,” He admitted.Steve made a soft little humming noise, encouraging Bucky to say more. “Should be able to - by myself. Shouldn’t piss myself. Fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Bucky,” Steve said, voice firm. He reached out and lifted Bucky’s head, met his eyes. His face was stern but compassionate. “It’s a medical condition.”

“I _heal_.” Bucky protested. “S’just cause m’a fuckup.”

“No, it’s not. We don’t know why the damage in your brain hasn’t healed. The doctors think it might be cause it was repeated so often that your body stopped healing it.” Which was awful and not fair, Bucky thought. What was the point of the healing if his brain was gonna stay broken if he was gonna piss himself and eat too much and trip over his own two feet and flail through sentences. “I am sorry the incontinence bothers you so much Bucky.” Bukcy hated that word, hated how it made this problem real, a thing that wasn’t just being a little kid sometimes but a thing his body couldn’t do. There were so many things his body couldn’t do now. “I wish I could fix it, I really do.”

Bucky knew that Steve would take it away if he could, that would take it on himself if that was possible. But it wasn’t. Bucky swallowed tightly and looked away. He heard Steve sigh and he felt a little guilty. Steve didn’t like it that Bucky felt crappy about himself, and that was enough of a reason to pretend that he didn’t feel that way. But he’d never been very good at lying to Steve.

“What would you like to do about the bathroom when you’re big?” Bucky bit his lip. He didn’t know was the thing. When he was big and Thor was over, he cleaned up by himself. If he was big and at Clint’s he wore his pull-ups and changed by himself. He hated dealing with it. It was better when he just put it into Steve’s hands, made it not his responsibility. But wasn’t the whole point to claim some sort of responsibility? And if he couldn’t be responsible for this how could he possibly expect to be responsible for anything else? Bucky sighed.

“I’ll - uh, by myself. Uhm. Unless I ask?” Bucky said. Steve smiled easily and wrote that down.

“Alright. Anything else you do want my help with or should we move onto things you don’t want my help with?”

“Uhm, nos. I think. Uhm - wait, no. I need help ‘membering to take my medicine.” Bucky added and Steve nodded. “Oh - and,” he flushed again and continued on a little quieter, “gettin’ ready for bed.” Bucky’s coordination was improving, but it wasn’t up to the task of getting his nighttime protection tightly fixed around his hips. They’d tried and tried and without fail he ended up with an embarrassing leak or Steve having to fix the tapes. Bucky bit his lip and turned his thoughts away from it. He hated it. He hated being that needy.

“Okay,” Steve nodded, pen moving quickly across the page.

“But no help gettin’ dressed,” Bucky said. He needed to practice that one if he was going to get better. “Or eating. And no pacifiers,” Bucky added suddenly. He liked the pacifiers. He knew that was fucking weird, but they were reassuring as hell. It was something that belonged only to this time and space. He liked that when his mouth was busy, no one expected him to talk. He liked the repetitive motion. But they were also embarrassing as all fuck.

Steve paused. “Okay. But Bucky I’d like to look for some other options, instead. When you don’t have your paci you bite your lip.”

Bucky realized he was doing just that and let it go, tasting blood. Hurting himself was never allowed, not in the least. It wasn’t that Bucky set out to hurt himself, most of the time, it was just the pain set limits on his body, told him where he existed in space. “But somethin’ big?”

“Yes,” Steve agreed readily. “I’ll find you something that will be appropriate when you’re big.”

Bucky nodded, a little hesitantly. He wasn’t sure what could replace a _pacifier_ and be okay for normal adults. Steve continued, “Any other yeses and nos you wanna talk about?”

Bucky searched his mind. “I getta watch tv and choose.” Steve laughed a little at him and Bucky grinned.

“That sounds reasonable,” Steve agreed with a smile.

“And invite Clint over? Big?” Bucky asked.

“Of course. You can invite anyone you want over, Bucky, any time, little or big.” Bucky sorta knew that because he knew that Steve wanted him to socialize, but it was good to have it written down anyway.

“No bedtime,” Bucky added. Steve hesitated and Bucky repeated it, a little more firmly. He wasn’t gonna budge on this one. He wanted to be able to stay up late and not have Steve tuck him away. He wanted to stay up late with Clint - drinking beer and eating the endless assortments of junk this century he had to offer. He wanted to watch Steve fall asleep on the couch, see if Steve’s face still fell into that slack and peaceful and kinda dumb expression after all these years. (Steve always managed to be awake when Bucky was awake, these days.

“We’ll give it a try, okay Bucky? But if you aren’t getting enough sleep we’ll have to reconsider.” Bucky pouted a little bit but he didn’t really want to fight Steve on it. He’d just show him that he’d be fine staying up a little later. He tried to think of any other yeses or nos, but none came to mind.

“Think that’s all.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll put the list up in the bedroom next to your little yeses and nos and we’ll see if we need to change anything in a couple weeks, okay? Can we talk about which chores would be good for you to do?”

Bucky nodded, sitting up a little straighter. This is where he got to balance the scale a little - give back for the all the endless things Steve did for him. In a million years Bucky would never be able to repay Steve. The least he could do was a few fucking chores, try and makes things a little easier on Steve who pretended everything was fine, who seemed to take care of everyone and everything, and barely had a minute to breathe.

“I think washing the dishes after I cook is a good one.” Bucky nodded. He already did that sometimes, on really good days. “I’d like you to make the bed in the morning.” Bucky thought he could probably do that with one hand. “And put away your and Clint’s clothes after I’ve done laundry. Also, picking up any toys or books and putting them back where they belong. Let’s start with those, does that sound okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Make a list to remind me?”

Steve nodded and smiled a bit. “Would you like to earn stars when you’re big?”

A little part of Bucky wanted to say yes because _new toys,_ y’know. But that wasn’t the idea here. He wanted to be responsible because it was the right thing to do. Because that was the way he could take care of his family, who were always giving. He shook his head firmly.

“Alright then. This all looks real good, Buck. M’glad you could tell me what you needed.”

Bucky smiled. He felt better too. He leaned in for a hug and then stopped, confused. “Can we still hug? And cuddle when I’m big?” He could hear how worried his voice sounded and it was a little embarrassing but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Bucky’s own body was broken and strange, a thing that was simultaneously his and not. Steve’s touch was certainty and safety. They’d always touched, back before, but everything in their lives had changed since then and there was no reason to assume things would stay the same.

Steve laughed. “Of course we can, bud.” He swept Bucky into a giant bear hug and Bucky sighed his relief. Everything felt a little better now, a little more stable.

*

Bucky started to figure out how to be a person again. He’d been little or sorta-little for months now, didn’t really remember what a functioning adult was supposed to look like. Looking to Steve for an example was sort of like a lightbulb trying to be the sun, Bucky figured, and he knew he had to find another model. Not everybody could be Steve fucking Rogers, after all. Bucky had never been as good as him and never would, but he could damn well try to be good enough.

First he followed the new yeses and nos. He got up in the morning and made the bed while Steve made breakfast. After, Bucky washed the dishes. Then he was usually little for a while, even if he tried not to be because he was just so used to that and it was exhausting trying to be big for a long time. At some point when he was little he ate lunch and napped. (After the third day, Steve and Bucky agreed that Bucky would help Steve with lunch dishes but wasn’t responsible for them.) In the afternoons he relished being able to watch tv shows and movies. Sometimes he and Steve played cards (not go fish like when he was little but Rummy and spit and sometimes even blackjack and poker, though it was a little weird with just the two of them). While Steve made dinner Bucky put laundry away or picked up toys. After dinner, he’d wash dishes again.

Sometimes he managed to stay big after dinner and he and Steve lazed on the couch for a movie. If he couldn’t stay big, they’d color and Steve would read stories. It was good, but Bucky still didn’t feel quite himself, not really. He didn’t know what was missing, only that something still was. If trying to be Steve was too much, copying Clint felt a little more achievable, so Bucky invited him over via JARVIS.

Clint showed up carrying pizza and beer and Steve disappeared into the spare room to give them space - which Bucky couldn’t decide how he felt about. He already knew how to be big around Clint, what he needed was to learn how to be big around Steve.

Clint, cause he was a fucking awesome brother, noticed his disappointment right away.

“Didja want Steve to stick around?” Clint asked as he plopped down on the couch with an open beer. Bucky sort of shrugged. “Well go ask him then.”

Bolstered by Clint’s easy confidence, Bucky strode over and knocked on the door to the spare room. It was while he waited that the nerves started fluttering in his stomach. He shifted anxiously when Steve opened the door (what if Steve didn’t wanna be around Bucky when he was big?)

“Uh - we’re gonna watch Mrs. Doubtfire? Do you - uh, wanna watch with us?”

Steve grinned a little, which made the anxiety lessen just a bit. “Course.” Steve stepped out of the spare room and closed the door behind him, which he did when he was working on somethin’ for the Avengers. Bucky felt a flash of curiosity.

“What were you workin on?” Bucky asked as they walked toward the couch.

Steve looked a little surprised. Had Bucky really never asked about Steve’s work. God, he was kinda an asshole, wasn’t he?

“Quarterly evals,” Steve said easily, which somehow just served to make Bucky feel worse. Steve obviously hadn’t been purposefully keeping his work from him. Shit. “They don’t usually take long, but I haven’t been around the team as much so -” Steve broke off with a shrug. The pit of guilt in Bucky’s stomach deepened and he paused in the hallway, staring at his bare feet.

Bucky hardly let Steve the apartment and how shitty was that? That Steve had to stay because of Bucky, stupid fucking needy Bucky.

“You alright, Buck?” Steve asked lowly.

Bucky was gonna shrug but he’d been working with Annie about trying to be honest about his feelings. Bucky brightened a little at that. Annie could help him with this - help him be braver and bigger for Steve so that Steve could do what he needed for his team. Bucky wanted to be able to do that, to do more, but he didn’t really know where to start. Spending more time without Steve felt completely overwhelming.

“I needta write a question down for Annie,” Bucky said instead. Steve smiled.

“Alright. I’ll grab your tablet and be in in a minute. You can put up a star.” Bucky sorta blushed. He was with it enough, now, to know that the star chart was pretty childish. But it _helped_ , because it was something concrete to show that Bucky was doing what he needed to in order to get better. Mostly he didn’t earn stars when he was big, per their agreement. There were a couple things that Annie and Steve had insisted on tracking and reinforcing - writing questions for Annie was one of those things. So he stopped by his chart and put up a sticker before joining Clint on the couch.

“He’ll be in soon,” Bucky mumbled, reaching for a slice of pizza. Clint muttered an assent through a mouthful of crust. Bucky rolled his eyes.

Clint started up the movie when Steve joined them, Steve handing a tablet over to Bucky. Bucky entered the password for his documents. He thought the agreement was kind of silly, because it wasn’t like Bucky had any secrets from Steve but both Steve and Annie insisted that Bucky have a safe space to record his thoughts and questions. So far he mostly used it to write questions down for Annie or to write answers to her questions when they were too complicated for Bucky to express verbally. Typing one-handed wasn’t quick or easy, but it was better than his barely legible handwriting and it was easier than trying to talk, a lot of the time. Once he was done, Bucky set the tablet aside and turned his attention to the movie.

He felt a little weird at first - he hadn’t really hung out big with Steve and Clint before, except as a trial run for hanging out at Clint’s, and then Steve had been - well, in his caregiver mode, Bucky recognized now. This was different.

But Steve and Clint were really easy with each other, joking about Tony, and Steve asking about training and Phil, and it didn’t take long for Bucky to relax a little. He realized with a sudden terrible, gaping sadness that he hadn’t seen Steve like this since he got back - relaxed and not on guard, joking and laughing. Guilt and regret swamped him again and Bucky started to tremble and Steve was immediately _on_ again, turning his attention to Bucky and putting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Shit. He couldn’t even let Steve have one fucking night, could he? He had interrupted Steve’s work so they could have fun but then Bucky’s stupid fucking brain -

Bucky choked back a sob. Fuck. He couldn’t do anything right, could he? His teeth pierced his lip and he tasted blood. Absently Bucky fumbled for the rubber dog tags Steve had gotten him to replace his pacifier when he was big, but his fingers didn’t want to work. Nothing about his body wanted to work. Bucky couldn’t make it work any more than he could make Steve’s work. Hot tears poured down his face. And it just kept building, because Steve had been having fun and Bucky went and wrecked it again. His fingers twitched against his leg, dug in hard. Steve firmly pulled Bucky’s hand away. Bucky glanced up. Clint had paused the movie and now they were both looking at him with worried expressions and Bucky couldn’t bear it, why couldn’t he just manage this one stupid thing, just watch a movie with his family without falling apart and losing it and revealing how fucking crazy he was. His belly clenched and he felt vaguely nauseous. He ducked his head down, closing his eyes. Bucky’s skin itched with how _bad_ he was, how _fucked up_ he made everything. All he’d wanted was to be big with Steve.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, “ _sorry sorry sorry._ ”

“Shh,” Steve soothed, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for Bucky, you’re okay. We’re all good. What do you need?”

He _needed_ to go to the bathroom before he got so upset he pissed himself, Bucky thought, but he _wanted_ Steve to hold him safe. Bucky tucked his thumb between his index and middle finger, making a fist. He waved the sign for bathroom at Steve who quickly stood and helped Bucky to his feet. Bucky’s knees buckled, body already far away and floppy, but Steve just wound an arm around Bucky’s waist and quickly walked with him to the bathroom. Steve helped Bucky pull his pants and underwear down and get situated. As soon as he was done he made the sign Steve and he had co-opted for a restraint, looping his arm around his chest and holding tight. Steve nodded, face serious. He tugged Bucky’s pants up and got them settled on the bathroom floor, limbs tangled together and bodies pressed tight. Bucky took a shuddering breath of relief and let his conscious control of his body go.

He drowned in feeling for a while - in guilt and anger and regret and fear. But the feelings weren’t so bad or big with Steve’s body anchoring him tightly to the present. Slowly, slowly, he dragged himself back. Steve’s chin was resting on the top of Bucky’s head and he was singing an old Gaelic lullaby that Steve’s ma used to sing. Bucky could just remember the sound of her voice.

“Steve?” Bucky croaked, voice rusty and strained from crying. “Sorry I ruined it.”

“Oh, bud. You didn’t ruin it. We can go back out and start again.”

Bucky blinked, feeling surprised. Would they really still want to be with him after his hysterics?  It was hard to imagine. Bucky didn’t want to be with himself after got like that. “Really?”

“Of course. You just let me know when you’re ready.”

Bucky thought about Clint waiting for them, the pizza, the two beers Bucky was allowed to drink, the closeness of Steve and Clint.

“I’m ready.” They got to their feet together, Steve steadying Bucky’s wobbly body. It was still frustrating. Bucky still felt shaky. But they were trying again. Maybe that was the difference between being big and little, getting back up again.

*

Annie came on Mondays for Steve’s appointment and on Wednesdays for Bucky’s. The first couple of weeks they shared both appointments. Now Annie came for Steve when Bucky usually napped. When it was Bucky’s appointment, Steve usually sat in the spare room with the door open, doing work, close enough that he would hear if Bucky needed him but far enough that Annie and Bucky could have privacy. If Bucky was having a bad day, Steve sometimes joined them.

Bucky had his print out of questions and thoughts for Annie and a stack of memory drawings ready to go when she arrived. He was curled up in his usual place on the couch, covered in his Nemo blanket, though he was big. Nemo was a great fucking movie, okay? He played absentmindedly with the silicone dog tags around his neck, occasionally slipping one into his mouth and sucking or chewing softly. He watched Steve let Annie in. Annie came over to sit in the arm chair like she usually did. Steve gave Bucky a quick hug and kiss to his head before going into the spare room. Bucky watched him nervously. The feeling always came when Steve was out of his sight, like the whole world might implode with Steve’s absence, but it was a lot better than it was before and he stomped the feeling down quickly.

“How are you today, Bucky?”

Bucky dropped his dog tags and muttered, “M’okay.”

“Is there any reason _okay_ and not _good_?” Annie asked, her big brown eyes kind and curious. Bucky searched his brain for the words.

“I -uh. Want to be big, more. But big is -” Bucky shook his head and shrugged.

“Confusing?” Annie asked softly. Bucky nodded - that was exactly what it was. Confusing and hard and terrifying and he always felt like he was letting everyone down because he couldn’t be big the way he’d been before. Oh. _Oh._ That was it exactly. He bit on his tags for a moment, trying to put the words into a good order.

“I’m not - not big like before. Can’t be. Is that - is that _bad?_ ”  It was a big fucking question - a really, really important one and it hung in the air and made it a little harder to breathe.

“Of course not,” Annie said easily. “In fact, I’d say it’s to be expected. Given what you’ve been through, I’d say it would be more shocking if you were exactly the same. Don’t you think Steve has changed with everything he’s been through?”

“Guesso,” Bucky mumbled. Steve was different than he had been when they were young - before the serum and the war and the plane and all. But that was different. Steve had always been good. He was still good. Bucky was - well. He didn’t know what he was, really. Fucked up and a mess and needy as all hell, lacking even the desire to be independent the way people were supposed to want.

Annie hummed, giving him a thoughtful look. “We’re all always changing, Bucky. We become new versions of ourselves every day. Perhaps you changed more than most, but that doesn’t make it bad.” Bucky shrugged again, unsure.

“Can we talk about something else?” He asked. Annie nodded and asked to see his question list. Bucky handed it over, shifting a bit nervously in his seat.

“So this first one is also about being big. Are you okay to talk about that one?” Bucky nodded because he needed Annie’s help figuring out how to be big around Steve. Annie had a way of putting things that made them really fucking clear, even to the confused mess that was Bucky’s brain. It helped that she had a warm, deep voice, just as surprising in her tiny frame as it had been in Steve’s, back before everything. “I think I can help you find ways to be big around Steve, but first I want to ask what does being “big” mean to you?”

Bucky chewed on his dogtags as he thought about the question.

“Uhm. Takin’ care of Steve. Doing more stuff by myself. But - I dunno. I don’t feel - I dunno. I don’t feel like a person when I’m big. I’m a person when I’m little but when m’big I’m just -” Bucky waved his hand uselessly about and stared at his knees, feeling frustrated.

“Hmm. Maybe you just need to spend a little more time big, so you can figure out who you are.”

“It’s hard,” Bucky sighed, shoulders drooping heavily. “Really hard.”

“I’m sure it is,” Annie said softly. “But you have lots of people here to help you and I’m sure that we can figure out a way to support big you. How about we make a plan and a schedule for being big more?”

Bucky nodded. Plans and schedules helped a lot, meant that there were things Bucky was supposed to be doing and places he was supposed to be. It was control and structure. Annie pulled out a pad of paper and a pen.

“When are you big these days?”

That was an easy question to answer because it was just a list. “Breakfast at home, after nap in the afternoon and for dinner.”

“Every day?” Annie asked. Bucky nodded again. He glanced up to look at her face as she wrote. Annie always looked like she was smiling, just a little bit. Bucky liked that about her. “Are you only big around Steve?”

“No, I go to Clint’s sometimes. To play video games and stuff. M’big then.”

“Is that easier than being big with Steve?”

Bucky felt guilty about it, but he muttered an assent. He didn’t know why it was so fucking hard with Steve, but he got self-conscious and angry and sad and he felt like such a fuck up. Maybe it was easier with Clint because Bucky knew that Clint felt that way too.

“S’hard with Steve,” Bucky muttered before he lost the words or his nerve. “Dunno why.”

“Well,” Annie said, sitting back and chewing on the end of her pen thoughtfully, “Steve’s the only one who knew you before and can see how you’ve changed.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide with realization. Annie grinned, flashing white teeth.

“Is that right,” she asked. Bucky nodded quickly. That was it exactly. Steve maybe expected Bucky to be a certain way that Bucky couldn’t be anymore. Bucky couldn’t be who he was before everything and what if that was the only Bucky Steve wanted? What if whoever Bucky was now wasn’t right? Wasn’t enough? Fuck, he just wanted to be the Bucky from before. He wanted to tease Steve and drag him out of fights and help him cook dinner and cover his six, but he couldn’t. He _couldn’t_ do any of those things.

Panic gripped in his belly, hard and fast and he started to shake. He hadn’t thought about it in so many words before, but now that he had it was all he could think, crippling doubt and fear rattling around his body, which was starting to feel fuzzy and far away. _No, no_ , he thought, _not again_. His nails bit hard into his torso before he could stop them, tearing and ripping. The pain helped - outlined his body in the world. If nothing else, the pain told him he was real and he was here and everything else could come after. Vaguely he could hear Annie shouting for Steve, but he couldn’t process it through the screaming in his head.

An instant later Steve had his arms around him and was pulling Bucky down to the ground, back against Steve’s body. Bucky shook and trembled through the panic, dimly aware of Steve whispering into his ear, of Annie kneeling close by, of the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest pressed up against him. He came back slowly, the fear, like ice, melted by Steve’s proximity. As always, his awareness of his body started in his chest and slowly spread outwards - long lines of burning pain on his belly, warm wetness quickly cooling around his crotch, a flush of shame across his face, tingling in his fingers and toes, tears sliding down his hot cheeks. He looked up into Steve’s kind, worried face. Steve let him go, rearranged them into a hug instead. Bucky burrowed close and Steve lifted him. Bucky gasped little wheezing breaths. There wasn’t room for any feeling yet, just an emptiness, like Bucky was a bottle of water poured out. It reminded him of being the soldier and it was just as terrible as the overwhelming emotions Bucky felt most of the time.  

“We’re just going to go clean up, Annie.” Steve’s voice rumbled through him, shaking loose the rest of the panic. The fear and doubt and guilt lingered deep inside, squashed for now,  but the immediate insistence of the panic was washed away by Steve. Steve took him into the bedroom and stood him up, carefully, by the end of the bed.

Bucky wobbled a little when Steve let go and leaned his leg against the bed for steadiness.

“We’ll need to do a quick clean up now,”’ Steve said softly, “So you can finish your session with Annie.” There was no getting out of sessions. It wasn’t that Bucky had actively tried, it was just that the sessions made him nervous and brought up things that Bucky didn’t like thinking about and pretty much everything that could go wrong had gone wrong over the last couple weeks. He’d panicked. He’d thrown things. He’d tried to bite Annie and Steve. He’d gotten so nervous he’d thrown up. None of them led to a session going unfinished. “Afterward, I’ll run you a bath, okay?”

Bucky nodded jerkily.

“How do you want to clean up?” Steve was all gentle lines when he looked at Bucky, not like he’d been the other night when Clint was over. Bucky pressed the thought away. His pants were cold and itchy now. Given everything he really wanted to be able to clean up by himself, but his hand was still trembling so badly he knew he wouldn’t be able too. He sighed.

“Help, please,” he whispered. Steve nodded and briskly stepped forward. Steve was good at differentiating between big and little Bucky, at least in the ways he approached helping. Little Bucky would have gotten lain down on the bed and changed with soft, gentle hands, followed by cuddles and hugs and reassurances. Big Bucky used Steve’s help to wriggle out of his wet clothes, was handed a wipe to clean off his crotch while Steve cleaned the skin of his legs. Steve held out a new pair of underwear and sweats for Bucky to climb into and then turned his attention to the scratches across Bucky’s stomach. Bucky winced when Steve looked at them. They were pretty bad this time. A tendril of shame curled up in Bucky’s gut. What kind of fucking masochist was he, that he needed to hurt himself like this? Bucky looked away as Steve pulled out a first aid kit, wordlessly swabbing the still bleeding cuts. They stung a little and Bucky hated that some part of him found the pain reassuring. They would take another fifteen minutes to scab over, would be faded to pink lines by tomorrow morning and by night would have faded completely.

“No more stars today,” Steve said softly as he helped Bucky pull a soft t-shirt on. Bucky nodded. It wasn’t exactly a punishment, not really, just a reminder that taking care of himself was the most important thing. Whenever he hurt himself or someone else he wasn’t allowed to earn stars for the rest of the day, big or little.

Steve gave him a quick squeeze of a hug and hurried them back out to Annie. They all studiously ignored the wet patch (a towel hastily flung over it) and Steve settled Bucky down and went to leave, but Annie called out.

“Actually, Steve, I think that your presence could be of assistance if Bucky’s okay with that?” Bucky tensed but nodded slowly. Even when discussions were about Steve, they were easier with Steve right there. Bucky’s body worked better when Steve was close, his words came easier, and feelings didn’t get quite as big. Steve sat down beside Bucky, who leaned up against him, grateful for the extra physical support of Steve’s body. His own body was still fucked in the aftermath, feeling not yet reconnected in his limbs.

“We were talking about Bucky’s desire to be big more often and his confusion about who he is when he is big.” Steve nodded and squeezed Bucky’s shoulder. “What we realized, and what set off the panic attack, was that it may be more difficult for Bucky to be big around you because you knew him before and may have some expectations about who he’s supposed to be now.” It all sounded so simple in her warm, low voice. But it wasn’t simple, not even a little bit, because Bucky fucking needed Steve, needed him like he’d never needed anyone or anything and he didn’t know how to be big and still need.

“Oh,” Steve said softly. Bucky didn’t dare look at Steve’s face, fearful of seeing sadness or disappointment or anger. “But that’s not - I love you Bucky, whoever you are. I don’t care who you turn out to be as long as you’re happy and safe. And I don’t expect you to be who you were before, not at all.” Steve paused. Bucky peeked over at him, watching him run his fingers through blonde hair. “I miss who you were.” A cold stone settled in Bucky’s stomach. “But the way I think everyone misses who their friends used to be, or who they used to be with their friends. It’s the same way I miss being a kid with you. It’s not really what I want, I just miss it. I wouldn’t be any happier if I had it. I like who we are now. I like our relationship. I’m happy, just the way we are Bucky.”

“Oh,” Bucky sighed, stone disappearing as though it had never existed. It didn’t make the desire to be who he was before go away, but it seemed smaller, less important. Annie smiled her big, face-stretching smile. Bucky sank into Steve’s side.

“Very well said, Steve. Very well said indeed. I think there are some very real concerns about Bucky needing a little space and independence to figure out who he is now, and I think that is also a conversation we should have with you.”

Steve nodded, smiling kind of bashfully.

Annie continued, “I understand that Bucky spends time with Clint when he’s big.” Both Steve and Bucky nodded. “That’s an excellent start. I’d love for that to happen regularly if possible.”

“We can do that,” Steve said easily. It was a relief to have Steve there, planning with Annie. It let Bucky know that there would be structure in the weeks to come, a way to work towards his goal that wasn’t overwhelming or terrifying.

“I also think it’s important for Bucky to be big with the other team members. I know that will likely have to happen while you are present, Steve, but it will help Bucky to create more friendships and connections.” Bucky fidgeted a little nervously. The others were… a lot. It was much easier to be little around them. But he wanted to be big, he reminded himself. Before he’d been charming and social, always made friends easy and had fun being with them (as long as they were nice to Steve). People now were terrifying, but if he could learn to like and trust anyone it would be Steve’s friends.

“We do breakfast with the team,” Steve said, “A couple days a week. Usually Bucky is little, but we can work towards having him big at least once a week. The team also has a weekly movie night - Bucky and I could go to that.”

“Those both sounds like excellent propositions. Are there any other spaces where Bucky might fit into the patterns of the tower?”

Steve hesitated, which made Bucky nervous. All of this made him nervous, but that was why he was letting Annie and Steve make a plan. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, the way Steve always prompted him to do when he was starting to get anxious. Steve noticed and gave him a bright grin, which Bucky returned somewhat shakily.

“He could maybe come to some training sessions,” Steve said, his forehead creased into a thoughtful frown. “I don’t know if that would be triggering. But sometimes we just run obstacle courses that Tony sets up. Bucky’s probably not physically up for that, but it might be a good time to do a little physical therapy too. I- uh - tracked down an occupational therapist who would be willing to work with you,” Steve said, a little sheepish, turning his gaze on Bucky. "I looked for a physical therapist first, but the people I talked to said that an occupational therapist would be better." 

Bucky frowned and resisted the urge to refuse straight out. Steve had told him that someone could help him make his body better. But -

“Dun’ wanna in front of the team,” Bucky admitted. “Embarrassing.” His body was so far from okay. He tripped and fell and skinned his knees almost daily. He always had bruises somewhere from walking into things or falling down. If he tried to do more than one thing at once, it always ended badly.

“Oh. Well, you could bring other things down while we did training and we could meet with the OT after?”

Bucky half shrugged and half nodded. Annie smiled encouragingly, so Bucky nodded a little more firmly. Having control over his body, in whatever ways he could get back, would be good.

“That should help increase your independence as well, Bucky,” Annie told him. Bucky nodded again. It would be good to be able to do more for himself. Maybe he could even do more for Steve.

Annie clapped her hands decisively. “Alright! Sounds like a plan.”

Bucky and Steve smiled in unison.

*

Bucky liked having a plan. It meant making less decisions in a day and knowing what was coming next, all of which made things a little easier. Steve knew that and made a schedule for Bucky to hang on the wall next to his star chart, which sometimes made Bucky feel like he was back in elementary school, made him blush when he went to check it, but it fucking helped. Bucky tried not to feel guilty about things that really helped, especially the things that didn’t take anything from anyone.

Mondays and Wednesdays there were appointments with Annie in the mornings. Monday afternoons (after lunch and a nap), Bucky went to Clint’s. Wednesday evenings were movie nights with the team. Tuesday and Thursday mornings Bucky ate breakfast with Steve and the others. He was supposed to be big for one of those days, but that didn’t always happen. In the afternoon, Thor came to stay with him while Steve went off to work or to the gym. Friday mornings were to be Bucky’s OT day, and then Clint came over and then Bucky got to be little all weekend.

He knew it was a little weird, how regimented his days were. It was just easier that way. Everything else was so uncertain - it was nice that something about his life was predictable. The days felt busy, but not too busy. It made him feel like there was a point to waking up in the morning, to struggling through his incontinence (see, he use his fucking words when he’s got too) and his fucked up coordination and trying to talk to people. There were things to do and places to be and so Bucky got up every morning and tried. Bucky still got lots of downtime to be with Steve. But of his scheduled activities, his favorites were always when Clint was around.

It was easier to be with Clint than it was with most other people. Clint always said exactly what he meant - he didn’t treat Bucky like he was made of broken glass (even Steve did that and Bucky loved Steve, okay, he did, and he knew he was broken, but that didn’t mean he liked to be treated that way.) And Clint, like Steve, always knew what Bucky was saying, even if his words were broken and weird.

“You fucker!” Clint crowed cheerfully as Bucky forced his car off the road in the video game they were playing.

“You,” Bucky said, focused on the game. Clint took it as the “fuck you” it was and elbowed him in the side and Bucky lost control of his car, careening into a wall.

“M’gonna tell Steve on you, swear bear!” Clint shouted. Bucky rolled his eyes, shoved his foot into Clint’s ticklish ribs. Clint yelped and jumped back, grabbing a pillow and throwing it straight in Bucky’s face. Bucky’s body wasn’t what it used to be and it hit him straight on, but he just squirmed his toes in between Clint’s ribs, making his brother squeal and swear.

“I’ll tell Steve,” Bucky threatened back. Clint moaned a protest and wiggled out of the danger zone, leaving them panting and grinning at each other like loons.

“Is it hard to be big?” Bucky asked suddenly. The question had been on his mind, cause Clint always seemed so...Clint, whether he was big or little and Bucky mostly felt like a big fucking question mark.

Clint twisted and collapsed into Bucky’s lap while the screen prompted them to start another game. “I mean, sometimes. When I’m real stressed out, y’know?”

Bucky shook his head. “No - I, who’s big? I’m not sure.” It took Clint a minute to sort out Bucky’s jumbled words.

“Oh. You mean, like, is it hard to know who you are when you’re big?” Bucky nodded, scooched into a more comfortable position, letting Clint steady his body as he moved.

Clint kinda shrugged. “I mean, not for me. But - I was tryin’ really hard not to be little. I think maybe if I’d gotten to be little right away, _after_ , like you did, it would have been different. Cause you havta learn to be someone new, don’t you, after things like that.”

Bucky nodded again and Clint looked up at him, eyes thoughtful but light.

“And you didn’t get to be you for so long. Shit’s tough.”

Bucky huffed a laugh at the understatement and Clint grinned a lopsided grin before continuing, “Maybe stop worrying about who you are and just be who you wanna be.”

Bucky sagged, automatically reached for the silicone dogtags hanging around his throat.

“I wanna be - before.”

Clint sighed, threw an arm back and around Bucky waist with an ease that Bucky envied. He stayed quiet though, and let Bucky find the next words. “I know I can’t go back but - I wanna.”

“What were you like before?” Clint asked.

“Brave,” Bucky said quickly. “Uhm. Smart. People liked me, uh, dames liked me,” Bucky blushed a little. He never would have blushed before - too confident, too brazen, too unaware of how cruel people could be. Clint chuckled and Bucky bit softly at his dogtags. “Took care of Stevie. Was funny and I could dance and -” Bucky trailed off. The man he remembered, mischievous and brave and confident felt foreign and distant, not like anyone Bucky had ever been.

“You’re brave,” Clint said, quieter, more serious than he usually was. “Really brave. If I’d a been you I would have broken.”

“I did break,” Bucky whispered. “That’s how they put the soldier in my head.” Clint sighed and snuggled a little closer, Bucky sucked at his dog tag and felt like crying.

“But you didn’t, not really. I mean. You’re still here, y’know? And that’s not nothing.”

Bucky sighed.

“Bucky, just be whoever the hell you feel like being and you’ll be awesomesauce.”

Bucky snorted in surprise and Clint waggled his eyebrows at him and they both descended into giggles.

“Awesomesauce?” Bucky protested.

“My face is awesomesauce,” Clint gasped.

“Your face is somethin’” Bucky said back, pushing at Clint’s side.

“Aww, c’mon, Bucky, tell me my face is awesomesauce. Come on, pleeeaaase.”

Clint continued to plead and they quickly found themselves in hysterics which is where Steve found them five minutes later when he came to fetch Bucky.

Steve smiled down at the two of them, lying on the couch, laughing so hard they were crying. It was all so stupid. It wasn’t even that funny. But it was, because. Well, life was weird. Really fucking weird. Clint and Bucky should have never met, let alone been friends and brothers. But here they were and Steve was there and that was kinda enough.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked, eyebrow raised.

Bucky and Clint traded looks, lost themselves to the laughter again.

“C’mon you jerks, let me in on the joke,” Steve cajoled, sitting down on the coffee table.

“We’re not jerks!” Clint said.

“We’re awesomesauce!” Bucky added and Clint lost it again, which of course made Bucky lose it and Steve just kept sitting there, this bemused and elated smile on his face, and fuck, what did it matter who big Bucky was, he was here with his pals and yeah, this was good.

“You’re a jerk!” Clint told Steve, as seriously as he could manage between bouts of belly achin’ laughter.

“Nah,” Bucky drawled, “he’s a punk.”

Steve’s smile had never been bigger.

 

_fin._

  



End file.
